What Can Be
by Gillian Moynihan
Summary: My behind the scenesquel of Indu Sundaresan's novel, The Splendor of Silence, but no knowledge of the book is needed. This is a story that reminds us that anything is possible. Set mainly in India from 1918 to 1943.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE **

**India, January 1918  
**

A young man sat alone on the floor of an upstairs hallway. His knees were bent close to his chest, and his head faced upward to the ceiling.

"Please," he said, while closing his eyes, "let her be alright."

It was very late, for he could hear no sound coming from the villagers outside. They have all been asleep for quite awhile now, enjoying those precious hours when, even at the most strenuous of times, the mind was able to rest. He wished he was able to follow their example, to lose all thought for at least a few moments. He envied them for no particular reason, only because he needed someone to blame. Besides, they would never hear his inner insults, and by morning he would probably forget about them anyway.

He heard his wife cry out again. Her contractions were ever so close now, and everytime he heard her it was as if he was being struck by a knife in the chest. He wanted to be with her, to do something, anything. He wanted to hold her hand tightly and tell her that he was there, and that everything was going to be alright.

"No, Sir," the midwives said to him. "This is a woman's place. Go wait outside in the hall. We will tell you when it's over."

But he did not want to leave. He remained in the room for as long as he could, practically yelling at the midwives, commanding them to let him stay, his inner youth buried deep within trying to force it's way out. It was not until his mother, along with two servants, threatened to drag him out the door if he did not leave.

And so there he sat while mixed feelings of anger, sadness, and worry ran throughout his entire body. It was then and there, when he sat himself on the floor, he realized how much he loved her, his wife, Lakshmi. They had been married for five years now, a marriage which had been arranged by their parents on both sides. His mother had chosen her for one reason - the colour of her skin. All other factors - what caste she belonged to, her family history, dowry, and status - had been approved by the elders. He remembered that, at the girl-viewing ceremony, when he first saw Lakshmi, his mother had taken her to one side and clasped her arm at the elbow. His mother had been the fairest in the family for generations, but he had taken after his father's family and came out like charcoal. Lakshmi had been brought in, quite specifically, to breed colour into the line, or rather, a lack of colour.

So his mother had laid her arm next to Lakshmi's and glanced down at their touching skins on the inside of their elbows, where the real colour was, and found them to match. Actually, Lakshmi's had been just a shade lighter, but it boded well for future children.

He had known, when he married Lakshmi, that she was not particularly intelligent or educated. She had failed her fourth standard exams and had never tired her brain after that. But he still loved her, despite all of this, because she took good care of him, tended to his wants before hers, and thought of him at every turn.

He heard the bedroom door open from his left and instantly stood up, anxiety spreading over every inch of his face. This sudden action had startled the midwife while she was coming out, and she had to take a step back out of shock.

"Well?" he asked. "What is going on? Is she alright?"

"Patience," she said. "I just need to get more towels. It will only be a little longer."

He watched her walk down the hall and out of sight. A little longer? What did that mean? How much longer is "a little longer"? People should have no right to give such ridiculous statements as that.

Lakshmi had let out yet another scream. Almost instantly, he rose once again and made his way towards the door. But the midwife, who had come back with fresh towels, had beaten him to it.

"No, Sir," she said to him, while shutting the door, leaving him alone once more.

Anger erased all other emotions inside him. From inside the room, the midwives were talking very fast now, but he was not paying any attention. All he heard was his wife's continuous cries, her horrible and inhuman sounds, and he was out here, unable to comfort her. He tried opening the door, but they had locked him out, and he had to summon up all his strength not to slam the door in frustration. Instead he just stood there, defeated, the weight of his body against the door.

"Please," he prayed, "please let her know that I am here, that I am with her. Let her feel my presence, as I feel her's."

And then he heard it: the loud, high wail of a newborn baby. Lakshmi had finally stopped screaming, and he exhaled in relief. He waited for someone to open the door, but moments had passed by and still no one had come out to him. _"What is taking them so long?"_ he thought. _"Why won't they let me in?"_ After what seemed like an eternity, a different midwife had finally opened the door. She began to speak, but he ignored her completely and practically ran over to Lakshmi, who was situated comfortably on the bed, feeding the baby that lay in her arms.

"We have a son, Raman," she said to him, pure love and delight in her voice. "A healthy baby boy."

Raman looked at the tiny creature below him. He had inherited Lakshmi's light skin - a fact that pleased his mother so much that she was practically singing as she left the room. He could even hear her cry out, "A light-skinned child! Thank the heavens!" as she was walking down the stairs. Actually, the boy had so much of his mother in his outward appearance, and so little of him, that he found it hard to believe that he had helped create this child. It was more like he was the caretaker of one they had adopted. He was not prepared for that feeling. He was not even sure if that was how someone is supposed to feel. But he was soon brought out of his thoughts by Lakshmi's voice.

"Would you like to hold him?"

He didn't know how to respond. He wanted to say yes, but his nerves got the better of him. Surely he was too young for this kind of responsibility, for fatherhood. In the end, all he could do was nod his head and extend his arms out to Lakshmi, who gave the newborn to him.

He looked at the beautiful child, his child, that lay in his arms, then at Lakshmi, and back agian. It was then he felt what he wanted all the while: the overwhelming, unconditional love for this tiny human being, his son.

_His son._

The little one had finally opened his mouth to let out a tiny yawn, and began to sleep. It was then Raman realized how exhausted he was. He did not know why, for he had not even done anything, but he had a strong desire to let his eyelids drop as well. He fought back this desire as long as he could, afraid that, if he did close them, he would awaken from this wonderful dream only to find himself sitting in the hall once agian. But his exhaustion finally took it's toll, and, while slightly tightening his hold on his son, he was forced to close his eyes.

It was then the midwives began to leave the room so he could be with his wife and child. When the last of them had finally shut the door, relief swept through him. He was finally alone with the people who mattered most of all.

As he held the little boy in his arms, his insides filled with happiness, for he was now certain that this was real. He began to slowly rock the baby back and forth, and caressed his little hand as he swayed. As he stood there, silently, he made a promise to himself.

He would witness the birth of his next child.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Seven months later**

"Mummy, are we there yet?"

"It won't be long now, sweetie. Please try to be patient."

Aislinn Callaghan watched as her six-year-old daughter pressed her forehead against the window once more.

"But I want to be there now," she said in a soft, high-pitched voice.

"Gillian," Aislinn said to her daughter, "you're just going to have to wait. Here, why don't you rest for awhile. I'll wake you when we get there. How does that sound?"

But Gillian was not satisfied. "I don't want to rest," she protested, failing to force back a long yawn. "I'm not tired."

"Nice try," Aislinn said smiling. "Come here and lie on the seat. You can rest your head on me."

Gillian reluctantly obeyed, and, despite her protests, soon fell into a light sleep.

Aislinn, however, turned her head towards a window on her left. She did not see much on the other side, for she had already stared at practically the same picture for a few hours. Everywhere around them, for miles and miles, was a flat desert. Occasionally they would pass by a town, or a larger city, but not much else.

Aislinn sighed. She missed the large, green, rolling hills of her native country, Ireland. She missed the unique, fresh smell of the air after a large rain. Here in India, or at least this part of India, it was all flat and rain was scarce.

In fact, the only reason why she was here was because of her husband, Damon Callaghan, who had been sent to Rudrakot two months previously. When she asked him why, he simply told her that he was needed to help "keep things in order". He had insisted that she stay in Ireland, for there was no great advantages for her in India. But Aislinn's will was stronger, and she insisted that the family must be kept together. In the end, Damon agreed that, since he did not have the money for all of them to go at once, he would depart for India alone and then send Aislinn and Gillian their share for the passage.

So Aislinn watched the days go by, and those days turned to weeks, and weeks into months, but she still had not received the money. She had become extremely worried, for his letters to her were few and those she did receive were not abundant with information. Finally, five months after he had left, Damon sent her an envelope enclosed with money and appropriate train tickets. Also in the envelope was a letter that gave her instructions on which trains to take, what their schedules were, what countries she would be traveling through, and some phrases in different languages that would prove useful. At the bottom of the letter, he wrote down his apartment number and address.

So here they were, finally, on the last train of their adventure, headed to Rudrakot. The journey was quite long, but for Aislinn that was not such a bother. She enjoyed passing through all of the different countries, watching and listening to all of the strange people. No, what bothered her most, especially when they traveled through certain parts of the Middle East, was the fact that she and Gillian had to travel alone. They were often the subject of much attention, and Aislinn did not like being stared at with such suspicion. At times she felt angry with Damon for not sending some sort of a guide, but then reality would snap back to her. How would they afford that? Their trip alone was very expensive, and they never really had much money. Just enough to get by, and sometimes a little more. So she just had to ignore the staring as much as possible.

In fact, the only person that kept her in good spirits throughout these hard times was Gillian. She had become pregnant with her when she was sixteen, a pregnancy that she tried to hide from everyone as long as possible. But eventually people began to notice her rounding stomach, and the news spread like wildfire. They stared at her as she walked down the streets and chattered behind her back. Her friends, some she had known since childhood, were forbidden to speak to her. But none of their hurtful comments were anything compared to her parents' reaction. Her mother yelled at her for several minutes, exclaiming that she was a disgrace to the family, demanding to know who the father was. Aislinn reluctantly told her, for she really believed that Damon loved her at the time. Her father, whose reaction was probably worse than her mother's, did not talk to her for months afterward - even though they lived in the same house. He would not even look her in the eyes for weeks.

Aislinn and Damon were forced into marriage in mid-March of 1912. They eventually moved into a small house in Kerry, as far away from their parents as they could afford. Aislinn loved her little house, which was chosen specifically for raising a family, but she was often very lonely. Damon, who was a soldier for the British Army, would have to spend many months in England, and she was often left to an empty house. She hated it tremendously because it gave her this false sense of aloneness, and a strange worry that she had been deserted.

Finally, to Aislinn's delight, about three months after her seventeenth birthday, Gillian was born. She was a tiny baby, born three weeks early, but eventually grew to be healthy and strong with the help of her mother's care and nourishment. For Damon, who's love was not entirely with Aislinn in the first place, and because he was still very young in years, the birth of his daughter did not have very much effect on his behaviour. For Aislinn, however, who had been carrying this little baby for months, who felt it kick and grow inside her, it was as if all the hard times of the past had vanished. All she could think about was how much she loved her daughter. Plus, now that she had someone to care for, she realized that she had to be strong. She had to be an example, a mentor, a teacher, and more. She had to be a mother.

Over the years Gillian grew into a beautiful, energetic, little girl. She had a strong desire to know about everyone and everything; a behaviour that Aislinn welcomed since the very beginning. However, there was one thing that set her apart from the other children: she only spoke Irish Gaelic. Originally, Aislinn, who spoke fluent Irish and English, had intended to teach her both languages simultaneously. She wanted her daughter to be connected to her Irish roots. But for some reason Gillian completely ignored English - a fact that Damon had argued with Aislinn many times before. "For one thing," he would say, "Ireland is ruled by England, and I am an English soldier. I cannot have my daughter speaking fluent Irish, especially as a native language. People will talk. My position could be lowered. You must teach her English. You understand, don't you?"

As much as he tried to persuade her, Aislinn could not agree. She did not tell him this, of course. Instead she kept her responses to herself.

However, there was another reason (a more important one according to Aislinn) why Gillian needed to learn English: she could not talk to her father. Knowing this fact, Aislinn promised Damon that she would teach her the language. The lessons went on for days and days, but still Gillian would not pick it up. Even now, being six years old, she still was very determined not to learn it.

And Damon would not speak a word of Irish.

The train rocked steadily under it's passengers. This helped Aislinn drift off to a light sleep, let her calm her mind for a few minutes, but she was soon awaken by a loud voice.

"We will arrive at our next destination in approximately ten minutes. Anyone traveling to Rudrakot or the neighboring cities of Ahmenhabad and Janpiur must prepare to depart." He spoke once more only to repeat what he had said in Hindi.

That was her call. She slowly began to reach for her suitcase, the heat's spell cast upon her body, but a man had pushed her out of the way only to reach his own bag first. "How rude," Aislinn thought, but she quickly pushed the situation out of her mind and took down her luggage. She brought only one bag; filled almost entirely with her and Gillian's clothes and a few of their personal belongings: Aislinn's memoirs, four books, and Gillian's favourite, handmade doll.

The train slowly began to reduce speed and, sooner than Aislinn was prepared, came to a gradual, but complete stop. Aislinn took a deep breath and said to her daughter, "Honey, wake up. We're here."

Sitting on an old bench, Aislinn watched the sun disappear behind a large building. It had been. . . an hour, perhaps, since she arrived at the station? She couldn't keep track of the time. What she did know was that the sun was beginning to set and Damon still had not arrived. "Where could he be?" she thought. Did he forget that they would be coming? If so, how is that even _possible_? People were beginning to stare at her now, disregarding common courtesy. This angered her greatly, but she did not return any of their glances. Instead she tried to think of what she should do. She could not wait here much longer, but how safe would they be wandering alone in a strange city?

Finally, after the sun had fully set, she had made up her mind and, rather than spend the night at the station, decided to find her way by herself. While holding Gillian tightly with her right hand and her suitcase with her left, she made her way through the populated city.

She did not know how she did it, how long it took, or how many people she talked to. Even so, she found herself standing at the front door of Damon's apartment. She tried to remember everything that had happened. To her relief, not as many people stared at her along the way. Was that just their nature? Or did they all strangely act opposite of everyone at the station just to keep her in a calmer mood? She didn't know, nor did she press the thought further. She remembered meeting one family, the Deshpanels. Intentionally she stopped them only to ask for directions, but what she did not expect was their warm nature, and a small bag of sweets as a welcome gift to her and Gillian: the newcomers of the city.

Feeling slightly happier, Aislinn raised her hand up to the door, but stopped herself before she could create any noise. Should she knock or just walk right in? After all, this was still her husband's home, but wouldn't that make it her home as well?

Then a disturbing thought came to her. What if - heaven forbid - she would interrupt anything? Did she really want to surprise him with her presence? Was that why he did not pick them up?

A sense of dread started to grow inside her. But, no, she should not think that way. She must remain positive. Not just for Gillian, but for her own sake as well.

Finally, having settled her inner argument, she raised her hand and knocked on the door three times.

"Damon?" she asked. "Are you still up? We're here."

But there was no answer.

"Damon, are you there?" she asked a little more loudly.

Still, no one answered.

Aislinn knocked on the door once more. "Damon!" she shouted yet again. Then, almost instantly, she remembered to keep her voice down. Even though their location was not very uninviting, she was still new to the area and didn't know any of the other residents.

Frightened by her own imagination, she turned the doorknob without thinking and, to her surprise, pushed open the door. Both Aislinn and Gillian stood there for a moment to look at there new home. They could not see much, only vague outlines of furniture, for the room was almost completely dark. In fact, the only visible light came from the moon outside.

When Aislinn finally summoned up enough courage, she walked in, put down her suitcase, closed and locked the door, and, still holding Gillian's hand, looked around the room for a light. After about a minute or so she found one and turned it on, so that a dim glow spread across the room.

The apartment itself wasn't too bad. It was nicely furnished, with all the modern appliances, and had wood floors in every room. To the right of the entrance was a lovely finished living area, with large windows and cream-coloured walls. There wasn't much furniture, only one small table and a couch, which wasn't a very tremendous surprise knowing that this had been the home of only one man.

To the left was a clean, European-style kitchen. Actually, now that the thought came to her, the apartment itself did not have much of native India in it - just a few traditional designs here and there, and a few small, ornate carvings near the top of the walls. In-between the two rooms, Aislinn could see, was a small hallway that lead to a bathroom and a bedroom.

But something did not seem right. There wasn't really any sign that anyone had been living there at all - no pictures on the walls, no notes taped to the cabinets, no shoes left outside of the closet, not even a sock that had accidentally fallen onto the floor on it's way to the laundry chute. Were they in the right place? Had she perhaps misread the address and, in doing so, lead herself to an unused apartment? She took the directions out again, just to be sure, and, to her disappointment, they were indeed in the right place. This was her new home.

Although Aislinn did not notice, Gillian had been watching her mother's face fall with each passing minute. Finally, not being able to hold in her thoughts any longer, she voiced what was on her and her mother's mind.

"Is this where we're going to live?" she asked.

"Yes, sweetie," Aislinn responded.

"I don't like it. There are no colours."

"Yes but, even so," Aislinn told her, "we must make the best of it. Tomorrow we can each draw a picture and I will hang them on the walls."

Gillian looked around and, while her eyes were still glued to the living room, said, "It's going to take more than just two."

"Then we shall draw ten," Aislinn said. "Now, will that do?"

"I guess," Gillian answered as if she was contemplating her mother's response. "Mummy?" she asked.

"Yes, darling?"

"Where is Damon?"

Aislinn froze. How would she answer that question? She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, she just stood there, gazing at various objects around the room, as if one of them was hiding the right words to say.

"Mummy?"

"I - I don't know where he is, sweetie."

Gillian paused for a moment, then, with a firm look on her face, said, "Good. I don't like it when he's here."

"Gillian," Aislinn said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, "it's very late. Why don't you pick out a book? I'll read one to you before bed." Then she finally let go of her daughters hand, walked swiftly into the bedroom, and, as quickly as she came in, paused to look around. It was quiet and empty - very much like the rest of the apartment. There was an open window to her right, with long, cream-coloured curtains that matched the walls. They occasionally floated through the air as the gentle wind found it's way into the room.

The truth had finally begun to sink in. She had come to an empty house. Damon was still the same person he had been in Ireland, and would continue to be that way. Nothing was going to change.

Aislinn felt sick in her stomach. She wanted to get out, to live in a place where she and Gillian were respected and appreciated. But she had no money and nowhere to go. All she could do at the moment was wait for her husband to come home. But would he? Where could he be? Who was he with? Was she safe here? And Gillian? Would she be alright living here? What type of country was India anyway?

All of the weight she had to carry beforehand had instantly returned, but with an added headache. She felt weak and uneasy, and had to sit down on the bed in order to relax her mind and body.

"Damon? Damon?" she called out yet again, a little softer this time, hoping that she would hear his voice in return. But all was silent. She had begun to cry then, long and hard, but could not force herself to stop. She felt more alone than ever before and had no one to share her pain, no shoulder to lean on.

Then she heard a little voice above her cries.

"Mummy?"

Aislinn looked up to find Gillian standing in the doorway, and a sudden realization came to her: she cannot be seen in such a state. She must stop her tears from coming. She must be strong for her daughter.

"Gillian, what are you doing here?" she asked while wiping the tears from her face. Then, seeing her daughter's little, empty hands, she added, "I thought you were picking out a book to read. Go back and find one."

But Gillian ignored her mother's last comment.

"Mummy, are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine, sweetie. Go find a book."

"You are crying."

"No I'm not."

But she was, and with no sign of stopping. She buried her face inside her hands, as if that would hide her tears. She felt ashamed for not being able to cover up her emotions. Gillian should not see such things. She deserved a healthy childhood, one with happy memories, not this.

But Gillian knew something was wrong. Sensing Aislinn's pain, she walked up to her, climbed onto her lap, and they hugged each other tightly for several minutes. Aislinn continued to sob, and Gillian responded by saying, "It's okay, Mummy. Keep crying. You'll feel better."

When Aislinn had finally settled down, Gillian looked into her eyes and said, "Don't worry. Everything will be alright. I will be strong with you. You are tired. Let's go to sleep. We can read a book tomorrow."

And, for the first time in hours, Aislinn smiled. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice a little calmer now. "I promised you that we would read tonight."

"Yes," Gillian answered. Then, after looking back at the dim hallway, she added, in a slightly worried tone, "But can we sleep together? I don't want to be alone."

Aislinn looked once at the hall as well, then at her daughter, and said, "Yes, you may. This place frightens me, too."

And so, not caring that they were still fully dressed, they both climbed into the bed and went to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**February, 1919**

"Kiran, give Papa back his papers!"

The little one laughed even harder and picked up his pace. He wobbled slightly, not quite used to walking this fast. A look of absolute bliss and triumph spread all over his face. Actually, the emotions seemed to take over his entire body. Everytime his father's voice and footsteps became louder, hence nearer, he would quickly change direction and resume his pace. Often this would cause a joyous laughter emit from the boy's mouth, for his father would often fall quite suddenly, surprised by his son's new motives. Almost presumably, the same incident happened this time, causing Raman to trip on a rug while Kiran ran into the hallway. Almost on cue, a loud squeak of laughter was heard a few feet away, and he new that his son had continued on with the chase.

_"I swear, that child does this on purpose to torment me,"_ Raman thought. Already over a year old and the boy knew all of his parent's secret hiding places, could somehow outrun Raman himself, and would mess everything in the house that he could reach. The latter would often cause much complaints from the servants - what very few they had - and Kiran's high-pitched screams as he ran through the house were not the most peaceful sounds. However, Raman loved these pointless chases with his son tremendously. He remembered when he once felt so worried about fatherhood, and whether or not his son would ever like him, but now everything was different. There was this unexplained connection between them that only a father and a son could share. He was proud of his little boy, and hopefully Kiran would grow up thinking the same way about him.

Raman got up and rubbed his arm to brush away a tiny sting of pain. "Lakshmi," he called, however smiling, "you're son is at it again!"

"What does he have this time?" she asked, already coming to her husband's aid.

"My ad to the newspaper. Really, I don't want to have to write it all --"

He stopped abruptly as he saw his wife in the doorway - his ad in one hand and her son in the other. She returned Raman's smile and gave him back his papers so that she could have a tighter hold on Kiran.

"I swear, Lakshmi, how do you do it all?" he asked, amazed at his wife.

"Really, I wonder how you _can't_ do it all," she responded, amusement growing in her voice. "He's only eleven months old. He can't be that hard to outrun." Then she added in a playful voice, after she put Kiran in his playpen, "What? Did you trip again?"

She ran while laughing and screaming just like her son, and he dashed after her. He was faster, but she moved with a swift grace - as Kiran did - that enabled her to keep ahead of him. They dodged past tables and chairs, and servants and plants, amongst other things. If his mother was there she never would have tolerated such behaviour from her son and daughter-in-law. But, thankfully, they had found a home of their own across the city.

Raman still remembers the nervous discussion he had with his father about moving. "Absolutely not," his father had said. "You cannot leave this house. It goes against our honour and tradition. Actually, it goes against the tradition of India. What makes you an exception?" He then protested that he wished to be the head of his own home, and to have his own (less conservative) rules that would better fit his family. Although, he decided to leave out his idea of a less-conservative home. And yet, this only stiffened his father's beliefs. "Are you to glad to be leaving your family, then? You are our only son and child. What will become of us when you go?"

_"You'll manage,"_ Raman thought bitterly to himself. They had enough wealth and servants for five families comparable to their own, and he knew that his father was upset for a different reason. As a matter of fact, he cared little for tradition and Raman knew that he only brought that up as an excuse. He was getting old; his working days were coming to an end, and he was feeling lonely. His son was a great companion for conversation - very much like him when he was younger. He, too, wanted a life of his own during his youth, and knew that Raman would feel the same way, but he was hesitant to give it to him.

After much debate, he finally caved in. "Very well then," he had said. "You shall have your house, but you must earn it. Work hard and take care of your family. Then we shall see if you are worthy of the responsibility."

That was two years ago. At first, he wondered whether or not his father had kept his promise. The months went by without another word of it, but during that time he realized that his parents' had changed. They kept out of Raman and Lakshmi's marriage (he wondered how much his mother could bear that), and out of Raman's education - that was his responsibility now - amongst other things.

A few months later, in August of 1918, he was finally given a home of his own. True he was responsible for hiring new servants, and they were not completely settled in until three months later, but it was all worth it. He knew this as he played with his son, and while he spent the beautiful evenings in Lakshmi's company. If his family was happy, he was happy.

Raman finally caught hold of her as she was about to enter the gardens. Lakshmi let out a laugh as he put his hands on her waist, and he had to force in a giggle. To his advantage, Lakshmi was very ticklish. He could make her laugh instantly with a light, swift touch of his fingers.

He held her more closely and touched her face. They were still breathing heavily from the run, but that did not break away their focus.

"I must be the luckiest man in the world," he said, still looking at her in beautiful astonishment.

"And I am the luckiest woman," Lakshmi responded, smiling at her husband's overwhelming happiness. He kissed her then, long and passionately. His mouth traveled from her lips and face, down to her neck and chest, while held her close to his body. It was then he realized how perfectly they fit in this embrace, how well they worked together, how much they fulfilled each others desires. Lakshmi, he knew then, was truly happy and content, and that made him soar.

A loud screech was heard from the bedroom, then another, and another. Kiran was at a fuss now, probably upset from lack of attention as usual. This finally made Raman and Lakshmi break away, and they laughed at their son's humourous cries.

"Come on. Let us see what the little monster wants now," she said, and yet they still held each other as they slowly walked back to their room. Raman smiled continuously the entire way, thinking about all that has happened. _"Really,"_ he said to himself, _"I am the luckiest man in the world."_

Aislinn was sitting alone near the window. She was used to this by now, this knowing that he would not be back tonight, but the pain was still there. It remained in her heart, unchanged, since the day she arrived in Rudrakot. She remembered that her and Gillian had fallen asleep alone that night, and Damon had not returned until late the next morning. _"Where could he have been?"_ she wondered. Even though, deep inside she knew everything, but she refused to believe it. However, now her thoughts were beginning to change. He was never home anymore, almost as if he cared nothing for his wife and daughter. Before he came to India, things were different. She was infuriated by this new careless behaviour, sad and angry at herself for picking such a man to marry. There were so many other perfectly respectable men she had met over the years. Why had she not fallen in love with one of them? Why had her life started out this way?

After she could not hold in her tears any longer, she looked around the room for desperate comfort. Thankfully, she found it on the dozens of pictures surrounding the living room. A few of them were of her own creation, but most were drawn from the hands of her daughter. Some of them were quite humourous, and, to Gillian's disappointment, they often made Aislinn laugh. Others, however, seemed to require a lot of thought and creativity. On some of Gillian's drawings were strange creatures, natural formations, and many people with different ethnicities.

To no surprise, Damon never really liked his daughter's artistic views. Once he came home while she was drawing a large pumpkin, but that was not the only way to describe it. "Aislinn!" he had exclaimed. "What is this this girl drawing?"

Aislinn studied it for a brief second. "It looks like a pumpkin to me," she concluded.

"Yes, but what is wrong with it?"

"Nothing is wrong with it, Damon. It's just a drawing."

"The pumpkin is purple, Aislinn! Who's ever seen a purple pumpkin?"

She stared at him, utterly confused. Why was he making such a big deal about this? Gillian knew perfectly well that pumpkins were orange, so why was he so upset? "Damon," she said softly, "please understand. She's only five years old; she's just being creative. Nothing is wrong." He looked as if he was about to continue the argument, so she firmly added, "And I'm very proud of her pictures."

No more was said about the incident, but she constantly wondered what made him over-react. Now that she thought about it, he seemed to pick apart every little thing that seemed unnatural to him.

Aislinn was brought back to the moment as she heard the door open and shut a few feet away. Damon walked directly into the kitchen, sat down, and began to go through some of his papers. He seemed to pay no attention of her presence, but then, surprisingly, he spoke.

"Where is Gillian?"

As she spoke, her gaze remained at the pictures, but her mind was elsewhere. "She's asleep. It's almost midnight, Damon."

"I'm perfectly aware of the time, Aislinn."

She sensed an argument coming, but she didn't care. "Where have you been all night?

"I've been out."

So he didn't want to talk? Fine. She knew where he had been anyway: drinking with his friends, sleeping with the prostitutes that walked the streets at night. The thought made her fill with sadness.

"What happened to us, Damon?"

His voice grew louder, but he still had not made eye contact with her. "What happened to us? Let me explain: I got you pregnant when you were sixteen. We were forced into a marriage that we didn't want, had a child that we weren't ready for, and then our parents removed all ties with us. I couldn't get a proper job because I had not finished my education, and now I'm stuck here in this wasteland of a country, with a job that I despise. Do you think I want to be here, Aislinn? What about you? All of your friends have refused to talk to you. You had an education, and wanted to be a teacher. You're so smart, Aislinn. What about your dreams? What are you doing here in this lonely house all day? You can't say that this is what you've wanted."

"It wouldn't be a lonely house if you were ever around!"

"The only reason I'm never around is because there is nothing for me here!"

Aislinn was filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. "Nothing for you here? Nothing for you? You have a wife and a daughter who both love you!"

To this statement, he only smiled and said, "You know that's not true, Aislinn. Gillian knows nothing of me."

There was regret, defeat, and sadness in his voice.

Aislinn began to cry, and rage made her stand up and move closer to him. "She only dislikes you because you never show her who you really are. As a matter of fact, I don't even know who you are. You have changed so much, Damon. Where is the kindhearted man I fell in love with? He was so caring, so polite, so sensual. Now it's all gone. It's as if you've lost all that's in you. You've lost your love. Look, Damon, if you don't love me, why don't you just say it?"

She was standing right above him now, enraged and yet, broken. He had never seen her like this before. Tears were still flowing fast from her beautiful green eyes, but she glowered over him. There was nothing she could do to physically cause him harm -- he was far too strong -- but nonetheless, something about the situation was frightening.

There was a small silence that followed, at least to Aislinn. To Damon, it seemed to take forever. His head was rolling around with multiple emotions. She was right; he had changed, and it was not for the better. He had destroyed his wife. Because of him, she was to be left in this barren country. And what about Gillian? She was the daughter that he would never know, and he was the stranger that she did not deserve as a father. What would happen to her?

He looked at Aislinn, almost afraid to speak aloud.

"Tell me, Damon!"

Unknowingly, tears formed in his eyes. He was going to break her heart.

"I don't love you, Aislinn."

All her senses seemed destroyed. The sounds emitted from the few chattering people in the late hours; the continuous trots from various horses, donkeys, and mules that were pulled by; the crying baby that awoke the same time every night; all of them went by unheard. Her whole body felt numb with grief, her voice had vanished. Actually the only sense that seemed to be working properly was her sight, and her eyes grew wide from his answer. Not that it was an impossible reply, but Aislinn never would have dreamed it to be true. Maybe she indeed was dreaming? Maybe she would wake up and find herself back on the couch. Maybe -- just maybe -- he would would awake her, take her to bed with him, and their lives would somehow change for the better. Yes, that was right. It had to be true, it just had to be.

Damon was her world. She loved everything about him. His dark auburn hair that flowed freely in the wind, the freckles that brightened his face, the kindness she knew was still inside him, the tales he used to tell her, the hope and courage he gave her. She was everything because of him. A good mother, a good friend, a good worker, and a good teacher. Her love remained the same. Throughout all of this, her love remained the same. How could his be different?

No. It wasn't true. And she would prove it for herself.

"Damon, you can't mean that. You're angry, and you always over-react when you're angry." Her voice was shaking. Damon noticed and he stood up to hold her.

But this, apparently, was the wrong thing to do.

"Don't touch me! Why do you dare comfort me now?" she bellowed. "Now, when I have felt this way inside every time you were out. Every time I saw you with other women. Yes, Damon, I did see you. When you and I fought of pointless things, and some of them greater than that. And when you were out late with friends, sometimes drunk, saying ill things about me, complaining about your life... All of that I've had to endure alone, not daring to upset you, for fear that you would leave me and I would be left as a worthless, lonely, single mother. Well, Damon, I don't care anymore. I've now realized how much of my life I've wasted on you, and I've had enough."

She left him in the kitchen and began to pack her bags, still crying heavily. Where she would go, she didn't know yet, but all she wanted was to get away from this place as fast as possible.

He ran into the room after her. "Aislinn, what are you doing?" he asked as he watched her pack. "You can't be serious about this."

"I am perfectly serious, Damon."

She realized how often they were addressing each other by their first names. They usually did that during an argument. And after that thought, she began to laugh. Damon watched her, utterly bewildered and slightly annoyed. Was this all a joke?

"What the hell are you laughing about, Aislinn?"

But that only made her laugh harder. "I must be crazy," she thought to herself. To be leaving him like this and yet laughing about something absolutely ridiculous. "I'm sorry, dear. I'm not making any sense to you. Actually I'm sorry for everything. Sorry I couldn't understand your feelings. But really, you could have told me sooner. Years sooner. That way, the pain wouldn't be so great. Why did you conceal your inner self for so long? Why did you even marry me? If I were you, wouldn't have married if I could not love my spouse, no matter what my parents would do, say, or think."

By the end of her speech, she was finished packing, taking less than what she and Gillian came with. Everything fit into one carpetbag.

This was all happening too fast for Damon, but what to do, how to stop her, he did not know.

"Listen... Aislinn... please stop. Let me help you."

"I don't need help from you anymore, Damon. Stay away from me."

And so she picked up Gillian, trying hard to keep her asleep, and her carpetbag, and walked out of the bedroom and towards the front door.

Damon followed. "Aislinn, you will not walk out that door."

She stopped. Was there still hope left?

"I'll stay only if you stop me. Otherwise, I have no reason to be here."

She opened the door and walked out slowly. She passed the gardens, walked through the gate and into the street. Although she was terribly frightened, she did not cry. She could be leading herself and her daughter to a lifetime of misery, but somehow she found a strength deep inside herself. She was determined to overcome this. She was determined to live a happy life. So she continued to walk and did not look back.

He did not stop her.


End file.
